


The Mollymauk Memorial Library

by brunetta6, enkelimagnus



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Caleb Widogast Angst, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mollymauk Tealeaf Angst, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, Sharing a Body, just Caleb's Past in general, takes place in the void between 120 and the nonexistent 121, widomauk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brunetta6/pseuds/brunetta6, https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkelimagnus/pseuds/enkelimagnus
Summary: Teaming up with Lucien was hard enough for Caleb.  Mollymauk has to be in there somewhere.  He just needs the right motivation, right?
Relationships: Lucien/Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 7
Kudos: 101





	The Mollymauk Memorial Library

**Author's Note:**

> enkelimagnus and i did this as an rp, and it caused me so many emotions that i HAD to post it... i hope you all enjoy just as much as we did. <3

It had been a surprise that he’d been able to walk into the Tower, uninvited. And now here he was, no longer in the cold of the Eiselcross weather, standing in the middle of an empty hall and looking up. Lucien, Molly, whoever he really was right now, he was there in the darkness, and he was pretty sure they were all asleep. He could kill them all if he wanted to. He didn’t know if he wanted that. Everything was stirring inside, and he couldn’t make sense of things well. He pushed himself up through to the other levels, until he stood in a library bigger than anything he’d ever seen, in front of a window that looked incredibly familiar… He stilled there, a foreign emotion keeping him from moving.

“...What do you want?” 

A sharp, wary Zemnian voice interrupted his thoughts. Lucien turned.

For an instant, it was as if an image was superimposed over the figure that had emerged from behind the bookcase. A shabby man, in a stained, smoky coat. Reddish-brown hair, draped over his forehead and piercing blue eyes...

Then, reality seemed to come through.

Caleb Widogast — a sharp-eyed wizard in a coat of sturdy, warm material and a long, cozy scarf — stood across the library. He watched him, a hand on his spellbook. He did not move an inch closer.

Molly knew him. And also he didn't. It was like claws in his mind, digging and slashing into memories that could never quite form a proper picture. He shifted a little, changing his weight from one foot to the other. He was unnerved by all of this. It all felt... wrong.

"This place is warm," he replied, voice too thick on the accent. Another sense of wrongness and dread filled him. "I quite... dislike the cold, if I'm being honest." He shrugged. "It let me in."

“Did you consider knocking?” Caleb muttered, fingers tightening around his book. He did not want to give away that he had allowed him in. Not yet. “That is typically considered more polite than just walking in. We are traveling together, are we not? We deserve small courtesies.”

"I've never really been one for politeness though, have I?" Molly swallowed, looking at the man's tight-knuckled grip on his book. "I'm not going to hurt you," he shrugged before pausing again. "At least I don't think. Probably not? My word is my bond. Whatever I said about hurting you before I probably meant it."

Caleb scowled. “If your word is your bond, make a new one. Swear to me that you will not hurt my friends.”

Molly narrowed his eyes for a moment, fighting the diametrically-opposed instincts inside of him. "I..." He hesitated again. "I swear," he grumbled through gritted teeth, forcing the words out despite Lucien's desires.

The skin around Caleb’s eyes tightened. He squinted at him, analyzing every stiffened muscle, every facial contortion...

Slowly, his fingers relaxed, the pads of his gloves falling one by one from the edge of his spellbook. Caleb gave him one last suspicious glance... then, finally, stepped down into the same lowered, carpeted section of bookcases and reading chairs. A single brass brazier crackled softly in the circle of chairs, decorated with carved cycles of Catha. “I have a guest room,” he told Lucien sternly.

He pulled off his heavy outer coat and dropped it onto a chair. “Upstairs. You can stay there.”

Molly shifted again, tilting his head to the side curiously. There was a lot to analyze here, so much he didn't know. So much that didn't fit with the memories of one part of him. This was not the man he'd left. He'd changed, evolved, grown into something very different and suddenly, the weaker part of him that had carried him here almost wanted to run away. He wasn't needed here. He wasn't... one of them anymore. 

"Why?" he asked after a long heavy moment of silence. "Why let me in?" 

_ Because this is Caleb and you still have your own face. Because he's a fool who believes what you say. _

“The truth? Or something gentler?” Caleb muttered dryly. He unbuckled his spellbook holster and pulled it from his hip.

Molly had a small empty chuckle. "The truth. Unless your lie is especially pretty tonight." He took a step forward, then a second, towards the closest fire and the closest chair. He let himself fall into that.

Caleb eyeballed him sternly... then sighed and began to unwind his scarf, disentangling his long red hair from it and pulling his locks away from his face and neck. His hair was red. Fiery red, not the red-brown Lucien remembered. Maybe it had been the dirt?

“I was hoping that this library might jog whatever memory is in you,” he informed him. His ivory skin almost glowed in the firelight. “That, and it is important to some of us that your body not freeze to death outside.”

A weird warm and achy feeling blossomed in Molly’s chest and he looked away for a second. Caleb looked great. Too great. That and the Tower was getting a lot for Lucien to handle, and was feeding every shard of Molly there. 

"I like not freezing to death," he hummed. "Gods, why does it have to be so cold?" He hated that cold. At least Molly did. Molly hated Eiselcross and the way it made him feel grave-bound again. "I do thank you for the thoughtfulness." As he spoke, the accent started slipping away a little.

Caleb just sighed, finally pulling off his gloves. He picked up his holster again, buckled it against his slender hip, and started to drag a rolling ladder along the side of the bookcase.

He climbed up, thumbing through his old textbooks on magical theory... and finally he found what he was looking for. Something cold settled in his gut at the sight of the old, hand-made, black-bound book.

Caleb took a bracing breath and grabbed it, trying to be as nonchalant as possible as he slid back down the ladder. “The cats will get you food, or something hot, if you desire.”

Molly watched carefully the other's motions, tail flicking from time to time. He couldn't hide the nerves there. Molly had never had the best tail control, probably lacking proper time in his own body, or proper supervision from another tiefling. The weeks spent with Jester hadn't been enough. He'd learnt of a few things, sure but it hadn't stuck. 

"I already ate," he shrugged and watched him still. "But I'm curious about the cats. Did Frumpkin multiply?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course not. That would be silly.”

Caleb sat down in the opposite chair, peeling open the old book. He kept his eyes on it. Not Lucien. “I don’t recall telling you my cat’s name. Perhaps you are remembering more than you admit.”

"You-" Molly dug his claws into his brain, trying to keep himself there and anchor himself with Lucien screaming and fighting back. The pointing out of that specific thing was disrupting him, disproving Molly and giving Lucien more purchase. His body shifted again, restless. "It's complicated," he swallowed. "Memories are strange things, Mr. Caleb.”

“That they are. But there is forgetfulness... and then there are lies.”

“What if this is neither?” Molly pointed out, but didn’t elaborate. His accent had mostly slipped away from Lucien’s thick one back to the one Caleb had met with Molly. 

Caleb snapped the little black book shut and stood, keeping his finger between the pages. “I would like to look at your hand. If I may.”

Molly raised an eyebrow at that. “I can’t see why not,” he said. “Which one?” He held out both just in case.

“The tattooed one,” Caleb murmured, walking over. He noticed the accent. He just didn’t point it out.

He knelt down, opening Molly’s scarred hand and examining the scarlet eye in the center of it, on both sides. He whispered to himself softly, eyes flashing as he cast Detect Magic, but it was the same as when they had met. No magic radiated from the eyes, nor the tattoos. This was something else. It had to be. Something that awakened with Lucien’s power. Catalysts, perhaps.

He turned Molly’s hand over, long fingers smoothing violet ones away, so that he could examine the tattoo more easily. In the corner of his eye, he spotted the tiefling's tail flicking around, like an agitated cat.

Caleb frowned... then glanced up at Molly. _ Lucien. Molucien. _ “Am I upsetting you?”

Caleb was close now, much closer than before, and Molly could see all the changes up close. Clean skin, beautiful and smoother than before. His hair was much longer now, cleaner too. His eyes were less heavy somehow. He couldn’t explain it. There were more marks of time but laugh lines in their mix. 

He let him examine his hand, trusting him much more than he should have. Lucien was still screaming but Caleb’s closeness and touch were really helping shove him away. 

“You’re not the man I used to know,” Molly said quietly. “And no. You’re not. You’re helping.”

_ Helping. Helping what? _

“...Good,” Caleb murmured. He opened the book, clearing his throat, and consulted the feather-thin pages. The handwriting was not his own, some of the ink smeared with time, some of the pages spattered with blood that had been dried for decades. A physical book, summoned from the depths of his memory.

“What are you looking for?” Molly asked, eyes following Caleb’s motions. “I probably won’t be of very good help. I was never good at answers. I has questions and distractions.” He hummed. The book was strange and felt... dreadful. “In all sincerity, I dislike the answers I’ve gotten in your absence.”

“Mm?”

Caleb flipped past a diagram of an arm slit down the middle, with a written guide on where the man who drew it planned to insert the crystals, for maximum effectiveness. He pressed at the eye, feeling for any bumps. “Like what?”

Molly’s eyes zeroed on the page and he frowned. He didn’t have any context for it and he couldn’t read it but... it was wrong. It was ugly. It made him angry, deep inside. 

“Who he was,” he whispered. “Who I am.”

He let Caleb touch and prod at the eye with a scientific coldness to it, savoring the touch nonetheless. “They’re all smooth. At least with me. I don’t know what they’re like when he’s in control.”

_ ’When he is in control.’ A split personality. _

“Who is more in control?” Caleb asked quietly, still keeping his eyes down. “What do you want? Versus what he wants?”

Was there hope? Was there? Perhaps a Greater Restoration might help! Or perhaps it would shut down Molly for good, if this was Lucien’s true body. Perhaps a Greater Restoration would be the worst thing they could do. If only he could get a clue to this blood magic, maybe he could set up a magical barrier, given time. He had Halas’s notes. And some of Trent’s, at least from memory. He might be able to...

Molly shifted. It was strange to talk about this, but... it felt good to talk. “This is the first time I have control,” he explained. “When we woke up it was the both of us... and then we saw Cree. And he took over. I’ve been playing dead until... until he met you.” He swallowed and shifted a little. He could almost see the cogs in Caleb’s mind turning, trying to find a solution. “I’m not going to be there for long. I’m much weaker than he is.”’

Caleb’s fingers went still. His mind faltered, eyes flickering curiously and uncertainly across Mollymauk’s palm.

Was this _ him? _

_ “...Mollymauk?” _ he whispered, brows furrowed and eyes alight.

Molly had a little smile, a shadow of his favored smirk. "Hello, Mr. Caleb," he said softly. "It's really good to see you."

He wasn't lying. A lot of feelings battled in his mind, hope, exhaustion, the hint of anger he'd felt when waking up in a grave again, to Cree and not the Nein. He was so incredibly glad to be talking again for a moment, to be himself. He'd missed himself. 

"Feels strange to stand in a shrine dedicated to me, I admit."

Caleb’s expression changed in an instant, from bewilderment to excitement to near despair. “Oh, I—“

His fingers tightened around Mollymauk’s hand. He barely realized he was still holding it. “Molly...” he whispered. “Molly, I’m so... I’m so sorry, Molly.”

Molly squeezed his hand back, trying to be reassuring. Caleb's face was a kaleidoscope of emotions that were hard to follow. "You don't need to apologize," he swallowed. "None of this is your fault."

The angry  _ You left me! _ would come later, later if he ever got to have his own body back to himself entirely. Then he would be resentful, then he would scream and rage. Right now, he had precious stolen minutes. 

"You've... grown in my absence. All of you. I'm proud."

“I thought we had a chance against Lorenzo,” Caleb whispered, heart aching, his eyes earnest. “I’m so sorry...”

"I threw myself into it knowing the risks," Molly promised and reached up to cup his cheek. "It's okay, it's okay. I promise."

“I burned out his eyes, Mollymauk,” Caleb told him rapidly. His words tumbled over each other as he straightened up, meeting those soft scarlet eyes. He didn’t know how to acknowledge the hand — a gentle palm against his cheek — so he just gripped Molly’s hand tighter, like it might keep their beloved carny from slipping back into the dark. “We destroyed him, all of us, with some help! Caduceus helped too, and a— Ah, it doesn’t matter. You must tell me how to help you, Molly. You must stop this. We have seen the city. It must not rise, Molly. There has to be a way you can sabotage this, break the cult from the inside, anything. And if you cannot, tell me as much as you know! I will make sure it is done!”

Molly watched him for a moment, trying to handle all of this and fighting to keep Lucien out. The mention of all of this, cult and city and everything, was drawing him out. He needed Caleb to stop talking about it if he had a chance to stay afloat. 

"I don't know. I don't have access to much of him, the way he doesn't have access to me. He wasn't lying when he said he didn't remember you. I do. Not him." He looked at him. "I don't... I don't know. I just know he'll do anything to bring it. If... if we kill him. If I can control this body, it won't happen. But I have no way to kick him out permanently, he's too... strong. Much stronger than me. Memories and family and friends and goals that I do not have." 

He shifted again, wincing a little at the effort.

“Well his goals are fucked,” Caleb hissed. “And you can tell him as much. We want you back, Molly... what—“

He took a harsh breath. “What can I do to keep you here?”

Molly huffed, shaking his head. He let go of Caleb's face and slumped a little into the seat. "Keep... keep talking to me. Keep me close. don't... don't mention him. The more we talk about him, the easier it is for him to slip back," Molly explained as well as he could. "Tell me... tell me about you. About the Nein. tell me what I've missed, what you've discovered. Who you are now. It's been almost a year..."

“It has...” Caleb whispered, his eyes dark and sad. “Well— goodness, where to start...”

He chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. “Ah, Beau and Yasha I believe are well on their way to becoming an item. As well as...” 

His heart twinged. He brushed it aside. 

“Fjord and Jester. We have... visited many places, done a great many deeds... Met people that I am glad you missed, at least...” Including the man that wrote this little black book...

He closed the evil tome, taking a breath and picking it up, about to put it back on the shelf.

Molly watched him for a moment, nodding along. "Well... none of these things surprise me. Guess I was always a good fortune teller," he chuckled and looked down at where Caleb was holding his hand before he started to move away. With that... book in hand.

"What's that?" he asked, as Caleb was inching away. "It looks... Not to be judging a book by its diagrams, but that doesn't look like a fun story." He pointed out. "And you don't seem to like it very much."

“It is... not a delightful story,” Caleb murmured. “But I only know of two other places I’ve seen experimentation with magical tattooing… and this looks nothing like Orly’s work.”

He climbed back up the ladder and pushed it back into place. “It’s useless anyway.”

Molly sighed a little. "That pain... the one I met when I first saw you," he said softly. "That's the one." He looked at him. "I won't... ask for anything. I know what it's like not to want to talk about past lives." He had a small sad smile.

He looked up at the window for a moment, the pattern of the stained glass. "If both Lucien and I die... If there's a body left, don't bury it."

Caleb was still for a moment, eyes flickering to the window as well.

“...Do you want me to burn you.”

Molly tilted his head a little. "Is it going to make you go... off? Like that time with the manticore?"

“Perhaps. And I would rather not see your... flesh slough off your bones...” Caleb admitted, his voice quiet, his distress pushed down as far as it would go. Panic already threatened to make him sick, churning his stomach at the thought. Gods above and below, why did he have to be  _ conscious. _

“But I will do it. If it’s what you think is necessary.”

"I don't think it's necessary. I just don't want to wake up... in a grave again," Molly swallowed. "Twice. Too many times. Much too many," he whispered and looked down. "No burning maybe? I don't know what else there is. Disintegrate it... I don't know. I just don't want to do this again." 

Molly closed his eyes for a moment. "Enough about death. I'm sorry I asked. You've had to see me go once already."

“...I have seen many people go.”

Caleb took a breath, steeling himself. The rest of them knew. Molly should be allowed to know.

Before he could hesitate — or rethink it — Caleb hopped down from the ladder and rolled up his sleeve. His arms itched, but he kept his left bared, then rolled up the right sleeve.

Molly watched him pull up his sleeves, revealing scars there. Many scars. And they didn't look like his, the self-inflicted ones. These looked... They made something angry curl in Molly's chest. He waited for Caleb to speak.

Caleb resisted the urge to scratch his arms, feeling like some flighty thing was ready to rip its way out of his flesh at the slightest provocation. “I have been... experimented on. As well.”

He quickly rolled his sleeves back down. “It is not a funny story. Nor is it a short one.”

"Do they hurt?" Molly asked quietly. 

He wanted to  _ kill  _ the ones who'd done this to Caleb. Rip them into shreds with his very claws. He swallowed the urge and just looked at him, serious. "I don't mind if it's not funny or short. I also don't mind if you don't want to tell it."

“No, I... I should get used to telling it,” Caleb murmured.

He took a seat beside Mollymauk, embracing that cold shame deep in his belly, and began to tell his story over the course of the next twenty minutes. He did not leave out any details. He did not allow himself to be interrupted, not like when Beau interjected all those months ago. He told it coldly, distantly, and matter-of-factly, as if he were describing the tragedy of another man’s teenage years. The eleven years in the asylum were nearly a blank. He occasionally had terrifying dreams about that time, waves of color and images like ruined paintings, but the thing that had stood out to him the most was the time gone. The years of homelessness. Grifting. Nott. Then the Nein... and then he took two more hours to describe the events of their journey thus far. The war, Rosohna, the Dodecahedron, Essek, the Chantry of the Dawn, Rexxentrum, Trent, the dinner, Vess Derogna, all of it. By the time he was finished, Caleb could feel his throat giving. Hoarse, quiet, distant. Almost like listening to another person finish up the story of his life.

He didn’t know how to look at Molly after that.

Caleb kept his eyes on the ground, fingers interlaced, and finally fell silent.

Molly listened quietly, soaking up all the information like a sponge. That was a lot. A long horrifying story that... made somewhat sense. Caleb's reactions to fires, his reaction to meeting Trent Ikithon in that party after they'd won that tournament. The heaviness in him that returned right now as he told his story like it was someone else's. When it was over, he let the silence hang a little as he tried to find words to speak. He'd never been the best at words of comfort. He leaned in quietly and pressed a kiss to Caleb's forehead, mirror to another kiss another day, so long ago, in a situation very different but very much linked. 

"I'm proud of you," he whispered.

“You shouldn’t be.”

"You did a horrible, unforgivable thing," Molly shrugged. "Unfixable. That's not something any of us can change, even you. But..." He looked at him. "You have done good ever since. You've stopped a war. You've kept the Nein safe. You made a home for them. You did what you did, and there's no changing that. What matters is what you're doing now. At least that's... my take on it."

“I believe you,” Caleb whispered, with some difficulty. He coughed a mirthless laugh. “But who am I to wallow in self pity? I should not be confessing all this to you so... sadly. It is disgusting, not my place...”

Molly shrugged. "Emotions aren't wrong," he muttered. "And it is sad. It is very sad. You're allowed to be sad," he pointed out. "It doesn't have to make absolute sense or logic. It can just exist." He looked down. 

"You're a person. You get emotional. That's... okay."

Caleb’s lips curved slightly, halfheartedly. “‘Okay,’ hah...”

Molly closed his eyes a little, leaning into the chair. "I'm tired. But if I fall asleep, he'll take over," he muttered. "And he will hurt you. I swore, but he didn't." He opened his eyes again. "I don't know how to fix this." He moved his own fingers. "I miss... before. It was simpler. I was alone in this body. I was with you... with Yasha." He swallowed heavily. "I've missed you. I've hoped and feared seeing you since we came back."

“Really...?” Caleb whispered, confused. “Me? Why?”

Molly swallowed, sighing a little. "I felt... a sort of kinship. Of course at the time, I had no idea what in your past had caused what I was sensing..." He shrugged. "You made sense to me, I guess. A little more than the others."

Caleb raised a brow at him, still searching Molly’s face. “I made sense to you?”

He hesitated, looking down at the floor between them. “I do not even make sense to myself sometimes...”

"The carnival was my first family. And it was filled with people who were haunted by the past, with scars and fears and strangeness that they didn't want to address," Molly explained. "It's a pattern I could recognize. Which was... a rare thing. Is. I've been alive for what? Two and a half years now? People are still hard to understand. Trauma? I can see that."

“...You are sweet.”

Caleb tried to smile at him. “You always were sweet...”

"Don't tell that to everyone," Molly chuckled. "I have a reputation." He was smiling though.

“Ah, yes, the salty peacock,” Caleb murmured. He didn’t have to try to smile at that, a tiny grin tugging softly at his lips. “Gritty and flashy.”

Molly flashed his fangs for a second, looking at him. "That's right. Remember me like that," he smiled at him. "The loudest person you've ever seen. The pinnacle of camp."

“I do remember you like that...” Caleb whispered gently, offering him a gentle smile.

He hesitated... like he might have said something else. But he faltered, his smile falling, and he let his head drop. He closed his mouth. Silent.

Molly waited for a follow up to that but realized he wouldn't get it. 

"Did you find my coat? Or is it lost forever?" He asked after a moment. "They didn't take it. They didn't care."

“Veth has it. It is... stained, and muddy. But we found it. We are keeping it for you.”

Molly shook his head. "No, you did... a lot of information to digest, I'm sorry," he chuckled a little. "Right. Veth. I'm glad she has it. I'm glad someone here has it... it's precious to me." He smiled a little. "Very much so."

Caleb laughed halfheartedly, shaking his head. “Right...”

He took a deep breath... and his eyes hardened. “I’d like to talk to Lucien now. If that’s alright...”

Molly looked at him, swallowing. "You... Okay." He set his jaw and looked away. That made sense. He was probably much more interested in Lucien anyway. He shoved away the hurt at that and flexed his fingers again, trying to imprint in his mind the feeling of having his body for himself again.

“Wait.”

Molly looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?" He was tired of fighting Lucien anyway. He needed to keep his strength for later, to come back.

Caleb shifted over, eyes bright and intense, and cupped Molly’s cheek. He hesitated... then pressed a gentle kiss against the corner of Molly’s mouth.

“We will see you soon,” Caleb whispered.

Molly's eyes went wide for a second, heart pounding in his chest. "Caleb," he whispered. "I... I'll try. Good luck. And I'm sorry for whatever will happen with him." He said softly.

“We’re not giving up on you. Preserve your strength, circus man...”

Caleb let his hand fall, one thumb barely brushing over Molly’s bottom lip. He didn’t know what he was feeling... but no matter what, he was not going to abandon Molly. Not again.

Molly smiled tiredly. "I will see you," he nodded. "Goodbye, Caleb..." 

He closed his eyes and stopped resisting.

Immediately, Lucien burst in, shoving Molly away and taking back over. His whole body changed demeanor, straightening and shifting differently. He opened his eyes. He took in his surroundings and the man's closeness. "How... unusual. I seem to have moved much more than expected," he drawled, accent thicker than before.

Caleb’s eyes hardened. “You and I need to talk.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. "What about, _ ally?" _

“Well, friend, you are going to politely make room for that young man in your head,” Caleb informed him, his voice cold. “You will not push him down anymore. You will form a symbiotic relationship with him. It is in your best interest.”

Lucien hissed a little at him. "My best interest? To let that... distracting little thing keep me from my work?" He asked. "Deceptive shard of foolish thing. Played me so well pretending not to exist for so long..."

“You are not an enemy of _ fun, _ are you, Lucien?”

Lucien shifted. "This is not about fun," he hissed again. "This is about duty."

“This is about selfishness,” Caleb informed him lightly. “Your selfishness pulls you towards this city. His selfishness pulls him towards hedonism. His selfish desires are harmless. Can you really say otherwise?”

"You have no idea who I am," Lucien shook his head. "Or why I want this city. Or why I'm doing all of this in the first place." He looked at him. "This is... for the greater good, really. You should be happy. You're... compared to these... other people... You're an arcanist. A man of knowledge and understanding." He pointed out. "This is for you... for us."

“Explain it to me,” Caleb murmured, eyes sharp. “So that I can understand.”

Lucien tilted his head. "You know of Aeor," he said pointedly. "Of why it crashed. Of who it was fighting." He shrugged. "The gods have toyed with mortal lives like puppets and have only ever brought destruction and ruin. They've tried over and over to eradicate arcanists. At last, we can aspire to the same thing. Payback, if you will." He smirked. "They want you dead, wizard. You should be happy they won't be there for much longer."

Caleb wrinkled his nose. “The gods are not special in wanting me dead. There is no sense in cutting down the free will of countless lives to destroy gods.”

"Less on the list then," Lucien shrugged. "None of the ones who worship them are free. They're tied to their will, puppeted by these cruel masters, trusting them when all they'll ever get will be destruction the second they start posing a threat to those they put so much of their love and ressources into."

“Perhaps you would gain from listening to your skull-mate,” Caleb observed sternly. “You disregard life. He sees the value in life, even your own; you forge ahead recklessly, and he will preserve his vitality. You walked all through the night to find us. What if you hadn’t? Would you have frozen to death?”

"I have many to protect me. Fire is not that hard to find," Lucien shrugged. "He's a fool. A child, who doesn't know what his life can do," he looked at him. "And his... desires are distracting. He's a moth to a flame, all he will ever get is  _ burnt." _

He smirked at Caleb.

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “I will not ask again. Give him a looser leash. Or you will have me to contend with.”

Lucien huffed. "That's not the worst bargain, you know? You're far from the ugliest I've ever had to look at," he smirked. "And I think the moth agrees with me there."

Caleb blinked, his gaze suddenly suspicious. _ I was not expecting that to work. Wait. _

He squinted at him. “What do you mean.”

"Oh, he squirms when you're around," Lucien smirked. "It's quite amusing."

“No, that’s— The bargain. What do you mean.”

"Having you to contend with," Lucien shrugged. "Not the worst, really."

Caleb scowled thunderously. “Let me speak to him.”

Lucien sighed. "Fine," he shrugged. "Just this once." He winked and retreated, letting Molly surface again.

Molly frowned. "He... let me back?" His eyes adjusted to Caleb in front of him. "What did you say?"

“What he said is not important,” Caleb murmured, his shoulders quickly relaxing.

He climbed into Mollymauk’s lap, quickly. This was a terrible idea. But it was the only card he could play. “Can he see through your eyes? How aware is he of the outside when you are in control?”

Molly's eyes opened wide. "What are you doing?" He asked quietly, panicking a little. "No, he can't, not when I'm in full control. I can't see through him, and he can't through me. If we're in an... in between state, it's different."

“Does he enjoy me as well?” Caleb whispered quietly, settling into Molly’s lap.

"Caleb, what are you  _ doing?" _ Molly asked again, louder. "What... what did he say to you?"

“Just answer me, Molly...”

Caleb met his scarlet eyes, soft and earnest. “Please.”

Molly swallowed and let go of control a little, letting Lucien glimpse. There was a  _ purr  _ in his mind. 

"I think so," he said softly and closed the window back.

“I have an idea, then...” Caleb told him, eyes flickering between Molly’s. “To show him that it’s not so bad to let you in...”

Molly watched him. "What?" He asked quietly. "I don't... understand what you're doing." Or at least he hoped he didn't.

“He disrespects your hedonism... but if it can bring him pleasure too... will it not be beneficial for you two to coexist?” Caleb whispered.

He smoothed his hands down Molly’s neck. Callused fingers — warm from the fire — lingered at the tiefling’s collarbones... and gently pushed open his coat.

Molly shuddered, eyes closing a little, as he tried to figure out what he was feeling. There was desire, that wasn't hard to find, he was familiar with that. And warmth in his heart, which was much more foreign. But... he didn't... His hand snapped to Caleb's wrist when fingers grazed over the scar on his chest, stopping him.

Caleb went still in an instant. His hand stayed where it was.

He hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath, trembling like a leaf.

"I... I can't do this," Molly whispered after a moment. "Not that you're not... desirable, Caleb but... this is... wrong." He gently moved his hand away, breathing a little easier once it had stopped contact. "I'm sorry. This is not... hedonism. This is deception. And I don't want to use this for that purpose."

“It’s not deception, it is an exchanging of _ services!” _ Caleb hissed, eyes burning in the firelight. “Let him use me. Let him see that your ideals are something he can enjoy as well. Mollymauk, I am good at this, this is part of what I was trained to do for the Assembly. Surely it will be good enough for him.”

Molly shook his head. "I don't want to use you like this!" Molly replied. "I don't want this to be for him. This is not what I want... It's never been something I've wanted." He moved his hand away. "And I don't... want to do this without control of my own fucking body!" He hissed back. "I'm only in control because he's letting me right now, and that is not... a situation where I want to do anything like that in."

“My brains are  _ fucking useless _ and I don’t know any other way to  _ help you!! _ Let me  _ do _ this for you, I HAVE TO BE GOOD FOR  _ SOMETHING!” _

Caleb realized he was yelling, tears burning behind his eyes.

He caught his breath... swallowed the hard lump in his throat, and started to move away. “I’m sorry...”

Molly watched him, breathing hard. "I don't want help if it's that, right now," he looked down. "I'm... this not..." He swallowed, tail shifting excitedly. "The last memory I have of being in control of this body is right when I woke up. I still taste the dirt in my mouth, Caleb, this is not something I want to... touch you with." He whispered. "You've already allowed me much more than I've had for months. That's enough." He looked back at him. "I'm sorry for... making you think this was something I would... go for."

“No... that’s... I wasn’t... I wasn’t thinking. I-I... I just acted. I didn’t think.”

_ Stupid, idiot man. Idiot boy. What were you thinking? Did you think you could do something? Useless. Worse than useless. Making things worse. _

Caleb moved back to his chair, sitting down heavily. He rested his head in his hands, letting the heels of his palms press up into his eyes until he saw colored spots. “I am sorry, Mollymauk. Truly sorry...”

Molly watched him, unable to really move. "It's... fine," he whispered. "I... I get why... this seemed like a good idea." He pulled his coat and things shut again, looking away from him only for a moment. "I... was always up for something like that before, wasn't I?" He had a bitter chuckle. "It's fine."

“It’s not fine, is it though?” Caleb mumbled into his hands, his voice muffled. “I have been— I have been awake too long. I should sleep. Making... slips in judgement...”

He got up, his brain numbed and dissociating. “You are still welcome to the guest room. I am going upstairs...”

“Caleb--”

Molly sat up, his clothes disheveled, but it was too late to stop him. Caleb had grabbed his things from the chair, where he had cast them aside, and fled from the library he had made in his honor. The violet tiefling collapsed back into the chair, his heart sinking behind the scar… and eventually -- alone in the Mollymauk Memorial Library -- he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
